


I’ll Be There

by retiredseraph



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Autistic Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has PTSD (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Comforting Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Grounding, Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, I don’t think that’s a tag but I’ll put it anyway, I promise this ends soft, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Men Crying, No Sex, No Smut, Nonverbal Communication, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sensory Overload, Sharing a Bed, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), author is projecting, autistic shutdown, but that’s like every fic I write, is that a tag?, it’s not a big theme but I thought it’s worth mentioning, pressure stim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27459874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retiredseraph/pseuds/retiredseraph
Summary: The angel’s face was entirely expressionless except for a very small, almost imperceptible pulling together of his brows. He wasn’t looking at Crowley, just forwards and towards the ground, focused on nothing in particular.“Oh, angel…” Crowley said softly, slightly sadlyWhile sorting through old letters from, Aziraphale stumbled upon some old assignment letters from Heaven, which reminds him of all the times he’s fallen short. The reaction this leads to is unexpected, but Crowley takes care of him until it passes.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 39
Kudos: 131





	1. Sinking

**Author's Note:**

> This will be updating every day (there’s only three chapters so it’s not much but hey). This first one is from Aziraphale’s POV
> 
> This is based on my own experience with how being autistic and having trauma can mix and blend in not so pleasant ways, but thankfully it also makes great hurt/comfort material (and is super cathartic to write)
> 
> I also adore the headcanon of Aziraphale being autistic, and I wanted more fics in that tag, so how could I resist writing this? 😆

Crowley had just left to go get groceries and run errands for an hour or so when Aziraphale decided to work on unpacking one of the few boxes in their guest room, leftover from when they’d moved. He’d been expecting to go through its contents and figure out what needed to go where, and what needed to be given away or thrown out. When he’d opened it, he’d been met with a view of four stacks of letters, tied up in red twine, and with a hastily written sticky note that said “1800’s” on the inside of one of the cardboard flaps. Once he took one stack out, he noticed that under the normal ones with yellow paper, the stack was mostly composed of envelopes that were still a crisp white, which meant they were old assignment letters from Heaven.

Aziraphale untied the stack, and read through the yellowing letters, fondly remembering various book appraisals and orders. One particularly nostalgic letter was one between himself and an eccentric man who had found a Bible that had intended to be a translated version into Dutch, but was actually almost entirely consisting of critiques from the translator, and had stopped after the book of Lamentations. Aziraphale chuckled a little under his breath after finishing reading that letter.

He then looked at the remaining letters in the stack, which were mostly assignment letters from Heaven. Aziraphale pursed his lips as he considered whether or not he should delve into those or not, or just throw them away. They were, after all, a reminder of all he’d done, even though he was no longer working for Heaven. Perhaps it would be nice to take a walk down memory lane... Settling on the compromise of reading through them one last time before getting rid of them, Aziraphale untied the stack and picked up the first letter.

 _Just for old time’s sake_ , he thought.  
  
Seventeen letters later, each assignment was somehow feeling like it he was still at fault for not living up to the standards set by each assignment. After all, many of them he had traded off to Crowley —at least before his century long nap— and most times, when he received his quarterly review on assignments, every fault or shortcoming or misunderstanding was highlighted and laced with venom and shame. 

There was a heavy, twisting feeling in his stomach, reading each page of miracles he was assigned over a century ago, and he didn’t really know why he was still reading them.

He slowly put down the letter he was holding, noticing that his arm wasn’t really moving as fast as normal, and furrowed his brow a little, trying to figure out what could be going on.

It wasn’t the first time he had felt like this, but he hadn’t experienced this sort of thing since not much after the Not-Apocalypse, which had been almost a year ago. The vague thought that _I shouldn’t be feeling like this. I should be over this by now! ..Especially since Crowley and I moved in together six months ago and everything has been wonderful so far,_ wandered through Aziraphale’s mind, but he didn’t really pay much attention to it before letting it sink away.

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting on the floor in front of the box of letters before he noticed that he hadn’t moved at all, and was sitting as still as a statue, not even breathing or blinking. Angels didn’t need to blink or breathe, of course, but it was momentarily bothering when Aziraphale realized that he hadn’t been doing either for quite a while.

He’d just been blankly staring at random points; the floor, the box, his knees, the wall, and unfocused points in the middle distance. Sometimes he would try to look somewhere else, then realize he physically couldn’t shift his gaze, but not be too bothered by that as the sinking feeling absorbed any other emotions.

After a while he noticed that he wasn’t numb, per say, but that he’d been sitting still so long that his corporation had started ignoring new sensations from most of his body, since there weren’t any new sensations. Other times he would try to move, but he could only move his fingers and only partially move his facial muscles. When he did manage to move, he found that he did so very slowly, agonizingly almost, and stopped after a few seconds to resume looking around and thinking about nothing.

Aziraphale swallowed hard, and tried to say something, anything, but the words were caught in his mouth. He couldn’t speak.

When he thought of what he might say or tried to put his thoughts into words, for all his knowledge of language and rhetoric, all he could manage were somewhat incoherent thoughts of “What..?” “I… uh... hm..” and “Can’t… I can’t…. Ugh, why…”

At one point, Aziraphale tried looking around the room, even though his eyes couldn’t seem to move as fast or smooth as he’d prefer. The room somehow seemed bigger than he’d remembered, even though he was facing the corner of it and couldn’t see the majority of it. Everything seemed so big, even though he knew logically that it was the exact same size, and there seemed to be too many things.

Too much, too much, too many letters, too many grains of wood in the floor, too much detail, too much space on everything, too much too _much toomuchtoomuch_. 

It was overwhelming, and although the underlying sense of panic felt so deep under the layer of fog that Aziraphale couldn’t properly care about it, all he could do was keep looking around, almost unmoving.

He wished Crowley was there. _He would be able to get me out of this_ , he thought. _He had before..right?_ He didn’t know, didn’t know whether he had or hadn’t, but there was a distinct feeling that he hadn’t not helped him before. 

He couldn’t think properly like this, couldn’t remember, couldn’t recognize things. Everything seemed so strange and surreal, and not in a good way. He kept looking around, making sure if everything really did look normal, and if it wasn’t just how he felt that had changed. Nothing had changed, yet everything had. There was just too much. It was all too big, and there was just too much.

As he drifted back into the rhythm of staring into nothingness once the overwhelming feeling of too much space had faded a little, Aziraphale tried something else. He wasn’t feeling like he was all the way there, like his corporation’s edges were blurring with his surroundings because of how long he had been sitting there, so perhaps pressure would help. 

He put his hands on his legs, and slowly rocked forward, pressing down on them harder and harder. Nothing. He had no internal reaction besides vague acknowledgement of the discomfort that his ankles and knees were experiencing at the sudden added pressure. 

He then pressed his hands together, so hard they began shaking, before parting them and staring at the wall until he could move again.

Aziraphale slowly shifted his gaze, once he was able to, to his hands, which were now rested in his lap. He very, very slowly willed them to rise, and turned his palms up, tracing the lines on his left hand with his right index finger, testing to see if he could still feel things. He could, and he could feel the sensitive feeling that came with lightly touching the very center of his palm, but it didn’t really feel like it mattered to him. 

He then poked each finger’s joints, testing his senses even more, and not thinking, even squeezed his fingertips hard with his nails, testing his pain receptors. They were there all right, but he didn’t react to them. 

He pinched the pad of his thumb hard, testing his pain receptors yet again, wondering if at a certain point he would start to care about the sensation. He then bent his fingers back, feeling the pain of the tendons in his hand exclaiming in protest when they reached their limit. He didn’t bend them back any farther, reflecting without words that breaking his fingers wouldn’t help him at all. 

It was like he could feel, but it was like having a layer of impenetrable gloves on. Or maybe that was actually a layer of apathy. He could feel pain as usual, as he’d concluded, but he just didn’t care.

Deciding that maybe sound was the answer, he stopped moving yet again and just listened to his surroundings. There was a barking dog down the street, the crunch of footsteps as a person walked over an area where the sidewalk had been replaced by gravel, the sound of the wind in the trees, and the oh-so-faint sound of Aziraphale’s heartbeat. He raised a hand up to his ear, and softly snapped it, seeing if he would have any reaction. He didn’t, and lowered one hand while raising the other to have them hover near each other. 

After an immense force of will, Aziraphale managed to clap his hands together, making a sharp sound. It startled him, and he could’ve sworn he had flinched before he realized that he’d only imagined the reaction. Nothing was really working.

He started staring again, resigned to what was going on, as his memory was too jumbled for him to function properly, his focus was shot, and the previous attempts at regaining his normal state blurred into the background. After a while he stopped moving entirely, except to occasionally rock left and right, ever so slightly. Even if he wanted to snap out of whatever was happening, he wasn’t sure that he could, and let himself drift further instead.


	2. Gently, gently

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a lot of hurt and comfort in this related to a shutdown and dissociation at the same time, but the comfort supplied by Crowley, I think, outweighs the hurt :)

Parking the Bentley in their driveway, Crowley got out of the car and opened the passenger door in the backseat, awkwardly hanging a bag of groceries on either arm, and picking up the remaining two with his left arm so that he could retrieve his keys to their house. 

He was happier and had more energy nowadays, and even though he had his low days, he was generally enjoying life much more than he had throughout history. He opened the door, pushing it closed with his foot once he was indoors, and went into the kitchen, placing the groceries down with a thump.

“Whoo-ee,” Crowley said loudly, hoping Aziraphale would hear him, wherever he was in the house, “Now that was a lot of groceries.” He started unpacking the various vegetables, breads, cheeses, canned goods, and meats, setting aside the ones that needed to go into storage or the fridge, and humming “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” under his breath.

“Didn’t you say that you were going to unpack some of the leftover boxes from moving?” he asked aloud once he’d finished sorting everything, and poked his head into the living room to see if Aziraphale was there and had just gotten caught up in reading, since he hadn’t responded yet.

To Crowley’s slight confusion, there was no angel sitting in one of the chairs or on the couch reading, or intensely focusing on inspecting a book. He checked his phone, which said it was about 4:16 PM, and Crowley frowned. Aziraphale had almost always had tea at four o’clock sharp, unless he was deep in reading or examining a book, which he evidently was not. 

Picking up the kettle and putting his hand near it, he noticed that it was cold. This meant that Aziraphale hadn’t boiled any water in at least half an hour, since it would’ve left a little residual heat from boiling, and it wasn’t even halfway to 4:30. Miracling boiling water was also out of the question, since Aziraphale much preferred to make tea the human way unless he was absorbed in doing something book-related, which again, he obviously wasn’t.

Which meant that something was wrong.

Crowley turned the corner of the kitchen counter and walked briskly down the hall, and peeked into their shared bathroom, then their bedroom, and finally, the guest room. When he opened the door to the last room, he immediately spotted Aziraphale kneeling in front of a box full of letters, and facing away from him.

“Angel?” Crowley called softly, but there was no reply. Crowley knew that Aziraphale’s senses tended to be more sensitive than most, so he didn’t want to raise his voice to get his attention, but he was sitting worryingly still and hadn’t so much as shifted or turned his head, only continued a hardly noticeable swaying motion.

“Aziraphale?” he called again, slightly louder, but more drawn out and not as harsh on the consonants, so as not to startle him. Aziraphale’s blond haired head didn’t turn to face him, and his body didn’t move at all besides the gentle, subtle rocking. Crowley softy walked towards him and knelt down vaguely in front of him, in front of the wall by the corner Aziraphale was facing.

The angel’s face was entirely expressionless except for a very small, almost imperceptible pulling together of his brows. He wasn’t looking at Crowley, just forwards and towards the ground, focused on nothing in particular. 

“Oh, angel…” Crowley said softly, slightly sadly, but not letting much of the sadness and pain it caused him to see Aziraphale like this into his voice, since it would make him feel worse about what was happening. 

Crowley felt a slight chill go over him; he often felt like this when he saw Aziraphale with such blank expression, even though he’d seen him in a similar state before. It was just very jarring. It had been a while since Aziraphale had one of these instances of what seemed to be dissociation. After the first few times where Crowley was there for similar things —as well as other things, like shutdowns or scrupulousity because of Heaven— he had done a lot of research, and through trial, error, and communication with Aziraphale afterwards, they’d figured out a way to deal with whenever Aziraphale was shut down the way he was at that moment.

Crowley twisted slightly to start packing up the box of letters, making sure to be slow so that Aziraphale wasn’t startled or overwhelmed by the sudden movement and change in scenery. Often Aziraphale was much more sensitive when like this, so even things like being too visually complex or loud of an area could be overwhelming, while his body shut down even more in defense. When he’d put the letters back in their box, he miracled the box back into the closet of the guest room.

“Aziraphale, I’m here, okay? You’re going to be alright. Can I touch you?” Crowley asked very quietly, and waited for some sort of signal on Aziraphale’s part. After thirty long seconds, Aziraphale nodded rigidly, ever so minutely.

Crowley slowly reached his hand up to Aziraphale’s face to cradle his cheek, and lightly stroked his temple with his index finger. He hadn’t cringed at the sound of Crowley’s voice, which was a good indicator, but they still had a long way to go. “You’re going to be okay. I’m here for you, alright? Do you think we can start working on getting up so I can get you to the bed or the couch? You’ll be more comfortable there, honest,” he muttered softly, and waited for a response. 

Sometimes Aziraphale wouldn’t want to or couldn’t move properly, so they would spend time wherever he was until he was feeling better, but going to a different, more safe feeling space often put him more at ease.

After a minute, Aziraphale nodded again, and blinked. That was a good sign, as it was two movements at once, even though blinking was generally more of an involuntary movement. Unfortunately, Aziraphale’s gaze hadn’t shifted away from where it had been when Crowley sat down with him. Crowley gave him a bit of time before speaking again, feeling Aziraphale lean into his hand a minute amount. 

“Okay, can you try moving your toes or your fingers?” Crowley asked, and Aziraphale twitched his fingers a little before bending and flexing them to get them accustomed to moving. Aziraphale’s eyes flicked downwards to watch them, Crowley noticing the movement, but knowing that Aziraphale would look at him eventually.

“That’s good, you’re doing a good job so far,” Crowley encouraged, “Can you try tensing up your hands so we can get those arm muscles working?” Aziraphale balled his hands into loose fists, clenching and unclenching them until he could manage tighter fists.

“You’re doing a great job, angel, now can you rotate your hands a little and move your wrists around so it’s easier to get your arms working?” he asked, and Aziraphale slowly did so, bending his wrists forwards and backwards, and twisting his hands and forearms clockwise and counter-clockwise.

“You’re doing marvellously,” Crowley said with a grin, “Alright, now both of us are gonna take a couple deep breaths to get the blood running, okay?” Aziraphale nodded after a moment. “Alright, one, two, three,” Crowley counted off before loudly inhaling through his nose, watching Aziraphale also breathe in, albeit much less and much quieter than Crowley. “And again, one, two three.” They breathed in again, this time Aziraphale inhaling more and blinking a little, raising his eyebrows just a little amount. 

After they had breathed together a few more times, to the point where Aziraphale was sitting up straighter, his shoulders more relaxed and normally set rather than hunched forward, and his eyes had changed from being focused on one spot at a time to slowly roaming his field of vision.

“You’re doing great, love, now we’re going to focus on your legs. Can you tense them up a bit for me?” Crowley asked, before watching Aziraphale’s shoes change in position ever so slightly as he tensed up his feet. They then focused on getting his calves working, then the entirety of his legs.

Crowley had never moved his hand from Aziraphale’s cheek, keeping a gentle rhythm to hopefully help him feel safer, but now he pulled away. Aziraphale inhaled quickly, but relaxed once he realized that Crowley was just moving his hand from his face to his shoulder, his other hand in the same place but on his other shoulder.

“Alright angel, we’re gonna go to either the bed or the couch now so you can feel more comfortable. Do you think you can help out a little getting up and walking over,” —Crowley held out one hand for that option— “or do you want me to carry you?” Crowley held out another, and waited for response. 

After a minute, Aziraphale placed his hand on Crowley’s hand corresponding to “the first one,” but his brows were knit together in thought, and Crowley realized what the issue might be. “You don’t need to feel bad about it if you want me to carry you. If you’re really tired, or it would take a lot of effort to get up and walk, I’ll carry you, but I want you to have the choice, okay?” Aziraphale nodded in acknowledgement.

“Okay, now would you want to go to the bed or couch?” he explained, holding out both hands to signify each option, and waited for some sort of reply.

Once another few seconds had passed, Aziraphale looked up at Crowley and put his hand on Crowley’s for “the first one.” “Think you can walk right now?” he asked. Aziraphale nodded slowly. “Want me to help you?” A beat, then another nod.

Crowley got into a crouching position. “Alright, on three we’re going to stand up, okay? It might be hard or scary because it’s a lot of moving at once, but I’ve got you, and you can lean on me as much or as little as you feel comfortable.” A nod. Crowley leaned forward and reached his arms under Aziraphale’s, who put his own hands on Crowley's shoulders to steady himself, and both tensed, ready to stand up. “Okay, one, two, three,” Crowley said softly, then hoisted Aziraphale up, feeling Aziraphale’s fingers dig into his shoulders as they stood. 

The angel swayed a little with the effort once he was standing, his eyes wide and blinking as he got accustomed to standing. He was also probably dehydrated and hadn’t gotten quite the usual amount of oxygen to his brain yet, and might have been struggling with not blacking out for a moment.

“Easy there, angel, I got you,” Crowley said, and leaned forward to meet Aziraphale, drawing one arm out from under Aziraphale’s and instead bracing his hand on his shoulder, while coming almost shoulder to shoulder on their left as he reached behind Aziraphale to brace him with his other arm. Aziraphale’s right hand clutched at Crowley’s left tightly, and which was braced against his sternum, near his collarbone.

They slowly made it out of the guest room and towards their own bedroom, Aziraphale’s steps slow, jerky, and not entirely stable, while Crowley’s were steady, smooth, and supporting Aziraphale. Because Crowley wasn’t exactly the most strong man-shaped being out there, he also channeled some of his more demonic strength to help give a little more support and steadiness.

When they reached the entrance to their room, Aziraphale listed to the side, but caught himself on the doorframe, bowing his head and breathing a little deeper than he had before. 

Crowley looked towards him with concern. “You alright there angel?” he asked, and Aziraphale nodded after a moment. “Just tired?” A nod, then a pained expression, then a shake of the head. “You in pain?” A shake. “It’s all just a lot, isn’t it?” A nod, and pursed lips. “Well that’s alright, we’re going to get into bed, and you can rest. Draw the blinds, all that. Sounds good?” A nod. “Alright, let’s keep going then. Just a few more feet, okay?”

They eventually made their way to the bedside, and Crowley let go of his hold on Aziraphale’s opposite shoulder to pull away the sheets and comforter. They sat down together, Aziraphale lying down and slowly turning to face the far wall, and Crowley being ready to help if he had to. Eventually Aziraphale looked like he was in a somewhat comfortable position, which prompted Crowley to ask “You okay? That comfy?” and receive a blank nod.  
“I’m going to draw the blinds, so it’s a bit easier on your eyes, okay?” Crowley asked, and Aziraphale nodded in approval, even though there was little to no expression on his face. After drawing the blinds, Crowley got in bed on the opposite side and faced Aziraphale. He gradually scooted over to him when he saw Aziraphale looking around the room with a confused, almost scared expression.

“Angel?” Crowley asked quietly, “What’s wrong?” 

Aziraphale didn’t respond, but just continued to look around the room with his brows furrowed and his eyes a bit wider than usual. “Do you want me to be closer?” he asked, and after a minute, Aziraphale turned to him and nodded, lips pursed and with scared eyes.  
Crowley scooted closer, trying not to shake the bed too much, and reached his arm under Aziraphale’s neck, shifting Aziraphale’s warm, soft body closer to his.

After a long couple minutes where Aziraphale just stared into space in the direction of the opposite wall, he twitched his left arm, which was between himself and Crowley, and ever so slowly reached under Crowley’s back, bending his elbow so his whole arm was underneath Crowley’s backside with his hand under Crowley’s shoulder. He looked up at Crowley, asking with no words and seemingly no emotions got approval of what he was doing.

Crowley smiled. “You’re okay, you can do whatever makes you comfortable and doesn’t hurt you. I got you.” Aziraphale nodded jerkily. 

After a minute, he leaned more towards Crowley, and reached his arm up to rest on Crowley’s shoulder near his neck and resting his head on Crowley’s chest, making a loose hug. Crowley placed a hand on Aziraphale’s back and moved it back and forth in a soothing pattern.

After a few minutes or so, he looked down at Aziraphale, who still had a blank, but scared expression. His eyes were roaming the room, and his fingers gripped and un-gripped Crowley’s left shoulder somewhat tightly while his other hand was clenching and unclenching. He was obviously uncomfortable, Crowley could see that, but he didn’t know what it was that was bothering him. 

“Aziraphale, what’s wrong? Are things too much right now?” he asked quietly, and was met with several small nods in a rhythmic pattern, like a miniature version of rocking back and forth. “Does there need to be less light? Less space?”

Aziraphale kept nodding and blinked hard.

“Can I pull the comforter over us and miracle the weighted blanket up here? I’ll make sure to leave some space for light and air if that’s alright.” 

He pursed his lips and nodded a little more, still continuing the small rocking motion with his head.

Crowley pulled the comforter over their heads, silently miracling the weighted blanket he’d gotten for Aziraphale the previous Christmas on top. He left some room for himself to breathe, but made sure that most of Aziraphale’s view consisted of blanket. 

After a minute, Aziraphale stopped nodding, started to minutely relax, and eventually mostly stilled except to soothingly rub the fabric of the blanket between his fingers or against his cheek.

Eventually, Aziraphale attempted to say something, but just ended up exhaling air a bit louder than normal. He blinked hard, trying to focus and muster up enough energy to speak. Crowley watched him do this, patient as ever, until Aziraphale finally whispered a faint “Ser… S’rry…” 

Crowley’s heart broke a little at the fact that Aziraphale’s first spoken word since he’d gotten home was an apology. He shouldn’t have to apologize for dealing with the aftermath of six thousand years of mistreatment and manipulation, six thousand years of abuse and gaslighting, six thousand years of shaming. 

Crowley pushed most of that feeling down, and instead stroked Aziraphale’s shoulder with the pad of his thumb, and bent his head so that his cheek was resting on Aziraphale’s curls.

“You have nothing to apologize for, love. You aren’t a burden to me, and I will still love you no matter what you’re going through. This isn’t your fault,” Crowley muttered, gently as he could.

“....Sure?” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley knew that even though he could now speak a little, he still wasn’t out of the woods yet, and probably wouldn’t be for a while, but the best he could do was try to make sure he knew his value.

“Of course I’m sure. What those bastards did to you wasn’t your fault. No one would decide to go through with that if they knew all that would happen. You aren’t a burden, and I love you,” Crowley said quietly, and moved his right arm out from under Aziraphale so he could reach behind his and start stroking his hair.

“Neh… mghfph..” Aziraphale tried valiantly to form words and furrowed his brow in frustration, but his mouth wasn’t quite working words yet. Trying again, he managed a “Ev’n..?” Crowley didn’t know exactly what that was supposed to ask, but decided to cover all bases just in case.

“Mm-hm, even this and everything that comes with it. You didn’t deserve even the smallest little passive-aggressive comment or undeserving criticism —and yes it was undeserving— or dirty look from that lot Upstairs,” Crowley reassured.

Aziraphale exhaled a little sharply, which may have been a laugh or just an exclamation of surprise. Crowley continued rubbing Aziraphale’s shoulder and playing with his hair, though not too fast to become overwhelming.

Once Aziraphale seemed more calm and was breathing deeply and regularly, instead of the shallow, slow breaths from earlier, Crowley thought about how he could start grounding him. 

Generally when he was dissociated and/or in the middle of a shutdown like this, he had trouble with his memory and even his sense of self, so making sure he was present and fully aware of what was going on around him was the next goal.

“Angel, we’re gonna work on grounding you so you’re more comfortable, okay?” he asked softly. 

Aziraphale nodded, and Crowley then asked “Do you want to try speaking, or should I just stick to yes/no and ‘first one’/‘second one’ questions?” 

“Firs’..” Aziraphale murmured. 

“Alright, now don’t blame yourself if speaking is hard. I don’t blame you, so you shouldn’t either. Okay?” Aziraphale slowly nodded, as if somewhat reluctant to accept that.

“First things first, do you feel like you’re in your body?” Sometimes Aziraphale’s senses would be dulled and heightened at the same time so it sometimes felt like he wasn’t all the way there, sometimes like he was off to the side or curled up behind his mind’s eye, so Crowley wanted to make sure he got this one right in case they needed to work on that.

“M-hm,” Aziraphale answered, and nodded his head. That was a good sign.

“You’re doing a wonderful job, angel. Okay, now can you say your name and where and when we are?”  
Aziraphale furrowed his brow and squinted. “Uh… hm… Azzzsssraph.. Ngh, no.. Azraphla… n…” Aziraphale sighed, blinking hard and closing his eyes tight in frustration. Crowley suddenly realized his error and mentally smacked himself in the face; it was probably much too high a bar at the moment to expect his love to be able to say all that. 

“Azzzzzirrrmph…” Aziraphale let out a low whine, and pulled a hand towards his head to cover his eyes in anguish. “Can’.. Can’t e’en… h, wh..”

Crowley rubbed his shoulder a little harder to try to soothe him, and wrapped his arms around him as Aziraphale pressed the side of his face into Crowley’s chest. 

It hurt to see Aziraphale unable to say his own name, and his frustration and pain at that fact tore at Crowley’s heart a little. He wished he had waited to ask all that. 

He felt the angel’s breath hitch, a shaky exhale, and another sharp breath, followed by a long sigh and the feeling of small but hot tears on his chest through his shirt.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I shouldn’t have asked so much so soon, and yes, it is so much, all that is hard to say sometimes and I misjudged. You tried really hard and I knew what you were trying to say, which is what counts,” Crowley said reassuringly, pulling Aziraphale closer to him and hoping it would comfort him. “It’s not bad if you can’t manage some things right now, and you aren’t weak or pathetic for not being able to answer all that right now. I’m proud of you for trying.”

Aziraphale shifted his head so he was looking up at Crowley with sad eyes. “Ev’n m..” Aziraphale sighed in frustration, “Even m’ neh.. ugh, name?”

Crowley shrugged. “Well, it isn’t exactly the most easy name to say, after all. All those A’s and Z’s, it’s no wonder even most humans get your name off the first couple times.” Aziraphale blinked a couple times in response, figuring that that was actually pretty good reasoning, considering things.

“Do you want me to keep asking questions to help you get the hang of things?” Crowley asked after a bit. 

Aziraphale nodded. “Okay, how about this, what are five things you can see right now? If you can’t say them, you can just point.”

Aziraphale paused for a moment, looking around, and presumably, trying to remember the words for things. He’d told Crolwey in the past that his sense of words often left during times like these, and that it was hard to remember what they were called, but remembering and saying them sometimes helped ground him.

“Ah.. m’ hands… um… the cufter, no, com-foot, agh, y’know, blenket.. Erm… shirt.. Shhhh.. Hgn, shhhhheet..s,” Aziraphale slowly enunciated, and although he got stuck on part of a sound, this time he spoke with a less whisper-y voice and a little closer to his usual one.

“You’re doing a wonderful job, angel. Do you think you can name four things you can feel?” Crowley asked again, stroking Aziraphale’s hair just in case he couldn’t think of more subtle sensation.  
“Hmm…. fingers ‘n m’han..” Aziraphale sighed, and tried to say it more slowly and precisely, “Haairr.. Um.. your shoullll-der… blank’t, ugh, blan-ket… and m’ shirt.”

“You’re doing just fine, Aziraphale. What about three sounds? How about just in this room, so you don’t need to think about things going on outside?” Crowley asked.

“Erm…. ‘s no’ mch” Aziraphale muttered. Crowley figured this probably meant that he couldn’t hear anything too distinctive.  
“There’s always a little bit of sound. Think a little harder, more closely,” he suggested.  
Aziraphale huffed a little in response, but furrowed his brow in thought. “Hear y’breeeeeeeathe. Breathe,” he quietly said, blinking hard when he couldn’t stop the “e” sound, “M’self breathng..” Aziraphale exhaled quickly then in a small but unsmiling laugh, before saying “Heartbht.. gh, heart-beat,” and lifting his right arm from Crowley’s shoulder to tap on his chest where his heart was, before resting it there.

“Ah that’s brilliant, angel, I knew you could find something!” Crowley softly exclaimed in praise. “Can you smell two things and name them?”

Aziraphale inhaled a little more deeply before thinking about it. “Colgn… agh, cologne, ‘nd um...citrus?” He looked up at Crowley in confusion. “Did’ja go t’the store?” he asked.

Now it was Crowley’s turn to laugh a little. “Yeah, I went to go do some errands earlier and I had been testing the different lemons to see if they were ripe, and some of the oil must’ve gotten on my hands.”

Aziraphale quickly raised his eyebrows before letting them relax, an expression he often did when he was mildly surprised but not entirely by something. 

“Good job by the way, you’re doing great,” Crowley reminded him, “Now there’s one more thing. Can you taste one thing? If you can’t, that’s alright, cos you haven’t had any tea yet and lunch was a couple hours ago, and you can just name something you like to taste.”

Aziraphale moved his jaw around, trying to figure out if he tasted anything, before saying “Well… I d… I do like honey.”

“Makes sense, cos it’s something always enjoyable and never loses its sweetness, just like you” Crowley said fondly, making Aziraphale exhale a little again in a small laugh. 

“Are you feeling any better?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale nodded a little. He would need time to recharge in order to function as normal, but as long as he wasn’t scared or sad or uncomfortable, that’s what counted.

Almost a half hour later spent stroking Aziraphale’s hair, Crowley remembered the groceries and the missed tea. Aziraphale had his eyes closed and was much more relaxed than he had been earlier, but probably wasn’t asleep. “Hey angel, would you like some tea and maybe a scone?” Crowley asked. “I could bring them here so you don’t have to move or anything, or we could go to the kitchen.”

Aziraphale contemplated this, before answering “Tha’d be nice.. How ‘bout y’bring it?”

“You sure you’re gonna be okay?” Crowley asked, knowing that sometimes when Aziraphale was more vulnerable like this, being alone was one of the last things he would want.

“Think I’ll b’ fine,” Aziraphale answered, still having some trouble with speaking, but gradually doing better.

Crowley nodded. “Alright, well I’ll be back in four minutes, okay? No less, and you’ll hear me boiling the water and everything, so you’ll know where I am and what I’m doing,” he said, then gradually managed to extricate himself from under Aziraphale’s arm. “Should I pull the comforter back or try to keep it as it is?” he asked.

“Keep it, y’ can pull it back when y’ get back,” Aziraphale answered as he rolled onto his back to wait, and Crowley tried his best to keep the blankets in place when getting out of bed.

Exactly three minutes later, Crowley came back with the tea and a couple of scones on one of those lap table things used for furniture. He set it in the middle of the bed on his side, and carefully climbed back in bed to sit near Aziraphale, using a small miracle to stop the tea from spilling. 

Once he had gotten close enough to check on Aziraphale, he noticed that he was unfortunately looking quite a bit more lost than he had before. He wasn’t as fogged up as he was earlier, but his eyes were more stationary, not even flicking to the tea or Crowley when he came into the room.

Crowley repositioned the small table so it was beside him on his left side, while Aziraphale was on his right, and pulled back the comforter and weighted blanket. He ran his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair, and asked “You okay there?” Aziraphale shook his head, though more smoothly, showing he was able to do more refined motor functions.

Crowley scooched closer to him, and motioned to the tea tray. “Want some?” he asked, only to be met with a pained expression and Aziraphale’s mouth opening and closing as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. “I’ll just miracle it warm until you’re able to answer, okay?” Crowley asked, more wanting to reassure Aziraphale than asking permission, as keeping the food and tea warm was only polite, even though he was technically still every bit a demon.

Aziraphale shifted to a position that more resembled sitting, and fiddled with his hands, clenching and unclenching his jaw, and pursing and unpursing his lips like he was preparing to speak. Obviously he had much better control over movement than he had earlier, albeit still a bit slower than usual, but the ability to verbalize had apparently left again for a bit.

“Angel, you’re okay. You’re safe, and I’m right here for whatever you need. If speaking is hard, that’s okay, you don’t need to push yourself to speak,” Crowley spoke softly.  
Aziraphale turned his head towards him, resting his head on the headboard, and opened his mouth to speak. “I jus’... I, jh, I-- I-- j-j” he stuttered out, trying to form coherent words, and drawing his brows together in a frustrated yet slightly desperate expression. He turned away and sighed in frustration.

Crowley inched closer until his chest was lightly pressed against Aziraphale’s back, then put an arm around him, pulling him closer and softly rubbing up and down his soft upper arm in a hopefully soothing manner. Aziraphale pulled a hand up to meet Crowley’s forearm and rubbed back and forth absentmindedly.

Aziraphale tried speaking again. “I-- erm-- guh.. I j.. Whuhh.. Hphgmf.. Gh-- C--” he sighed and then inhaled, putting his hand over his mouth as his breath hitched and stuttered as if he was about to sob at any moment.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Crowley said softly, squeezing Aziraphale in a one-armed hug, “It’s okay if you can’t speak, cos you don’t need to speak, and that’s cos you’re safe here with me. I can’t imagine how hard it is for you; I certainly wouldn’t deal well with all of it if I was you, so I don’t blame you. But, however long it takes, I’ll help you through this as best I can.” Crowley felt Aziraphale nod in acknowledgement and sniff, and hoped that he really understood and accepted what he had said.

After a good twenty minutes had passed, Crowley motioned to the still warm table that had tea and a couple of scones on a plate. 

“Do you want any?” he asked again, and Aziraphale nodded and sat up, Crowley then handing him a cup of black tea with the usual amount of milk and sugar in it, just like Aziraphale had made his tea for over a century. He sipped it thoughtfully, blowing on it a little so it was just the right temperature.

Crowley picked up his own cup, which had a nice spicy tea, and drank it at the same pace, so as not to make Aziraphale feel like he was going too fast or too slow.

They then ate the scones Crowley had brought, Aziraphale quietly sighing in contentment with the first bite. Crowley didn’t blame him, it did have a wonderful taste and texture, although he thought Aziraphale probably sensed more of that than himself, since he enjoyed good food so much. 

Once they were finished, Crowley miracled the small table back into the cupboard in the kitchen, and pulled the comforter up around them. “You tired?” he asked Aziraphale, who nodded.

Crowley put away the now-empty table, and laid down, Aziraphale resting on his chest soon after, and Crowley pulling the blankets over their heads yet again. As both of their breathing slowed and they drifted off, the last coherent thought of both before falling asleep completely was that they were quite content with the armfuls of angel or demon that they were currently holding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! The next one is like almost entirely soft stuff to make up for the almost entirely angsty stuff first chapter ;)
> 
> Comments fuel my soul, but if you don’t have the time/spoons for commenting, that’s totally okay


	3. Waking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter! This will mostly be bringing the story to a close, with a bit of serious stuff but mostly just fluff. Hope you enjoy! :)

Aziraphale looked out the window, studying the sky, which was now turning a pleasant orange. He’d gotten up after an hour and a half or so, and carefully tucked Crowley back in. 

He’d been feeling a lot more himself then, albeit still cringing at the idea of loud noises or bright lights, so he’d put on a pair of ear muffs to wear while cooking (patterned with tartan, of course) and dimmed the lights. However, he had also decided that he was feeling good enough and able enough to try to make a shepherd’s pie for a late dinner.

It had been about forty-five minutes since then, and the pie crust was almost ready to take out of the oven. At that point, he saw Crowley padding round the corner, letting out a soft yawn. Aziraphale smiled softly. A moment later, he felt the demon’s arms wrap around his shoulders, and his head bury into the pillow-like crook between his shoulder and neck. 

Aziraphale placed one hand on Crowley’s arm, and rubbed it slowly. “Did you sleep well, my dear?” he asked, steadily announciating his words to make sure they were clear, and received a sleepy hum of affirmation.

“Are you feeling more here yourself?” Crowley asked.

“Yes, I’m feeling more here myself,” he answered almost automatically (sometimes it was just easier to change the tenses of words than try to come up with an answer, but he was fine with this) and carefully extricated himself from Crowley’s gentle embrace when the timer went off for the pie crust. 

He carefully took it out of the oven after donning kitchen mitts, and set it carefully on a cooling rack, the warm, savory scents of crust and filling wafting through the air. “I’m still a bit tired, and I think I probably need a couple of days before I’m back to normal.”

“Well that’s alright then, as long as you’re feeling a bit better now.” Crowley leaned back against the counter, and put his hands in his pockets. 

“By the way...” Aziraphale trailed off. “What triggered that earlier?” He felt strange asking that, but did the life of him he couldn’t remember. 

“Uhh, well there were some letters nearby you when I found you, maybe something related to those?”Crowley replied, unconcerned by the question. A few spots in the angel’s memory weren’t uncommon, especially when something reminded him of Heaven, and Crowley didn’t mind filling him in.

“What kind of letters?” Aziraphale asked, arranging the pie so it could cool.

“Pretty old ones, they kind of looked like assignment letters.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale said shortly, grimacing. “That would explain it.”

After a moment of silence that gradually turned from awkward to comfortable, and also during which Crowley made a cup of coffee, Crowley spoke again.

“So.. would you do well with a sort of couple days off, a careful with the senses sort of weekend?” he asked, and Aziraphale turned to him as he put away the mitts.

“Yes, I think that would do me good. As you can see,” he said, motioning to the ear muffs, “I might want to stay away from loud noises and such for a bit” After a pause, during which he fiddled with his ring, he then said in a quiet voice, “I also might be a little less talkative. If you’d be alright with that, of course.”

Sighing, Crowley crossed the space between them, and held Aziraphale’s hands with his own.

“Aziraphale, you lovely being. There’s no need to ask for permission; of course I’m alright with that,” he said, his slightly sad tone of voice turning to a far more tender one.

Aziraphale looked down to the floor, vaguely embarrassed that he’d slipped up and fallen into the habit of asking permission for things that shouldn’t need permission asked. He pushed the feeling away gently, knowing little things like that were just a part of healing, and raised his head to face Crowley’s.

“Thank you” he said quietly. “And, um, remind me if I start to slip back into old thoughts, alright?”  
“Of course, angel,” Crowley said with a smile, “Of course.”

———

For the rest of the time that Aziraphale spent on preparing the rest of the meal (“I think some mashed potatoes and maybe some rolls would be nice,” he’d said), Crowley offered help where he could, doing things when Aziraphale didn’t quite have the time to multitask, and giving him gentle touches of affection when he wasn’t doing anything. 

Later during dinner, the angel explained his choice of pie, the quirks he made to the recipe, and even a story related to shepherds pie from when Crowley had been taking his century-long nap, growing more animated in his joy as he described it all. Crowley listened with a smile.

The next day, Crowley sorted through the letters to separate the Heavenly assignments from the human letters, and after a somewhat raw conversation with Aziraphale, it was decided that the letters should be disposed of, as they served no good functional or sentimental purpose, and were only reminders of worse times in their pasts.

Over the next few days, they made sure to take it easy, finding ways for Aziraphale to keep himself grounded and comfortable while still providing entertainment and ways to get household necessities done. There was also a fair amount of cuddling, reassuring, and comforting, and the days slowly transitioned from careful recovery and recharging to tender peacefulness.

Eventually, activities were picked up again, the weather became better, and things went back to their normal, complicated, lovely, everyday ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn’t think of a better title jsfpftgh
> 
> Comments are very appreciated and fuel my soul, but if you don’t have the time/spoons that’s totally okay :)


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